


put your hands all over me

by blackkat



Series: Blyla Drabbles [5]
Category: Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Flirting, Humor, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, PWP without Porn, Pining, Romance, Suffering Bly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-11
Updated: 2020-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:55:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23109610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackkat/pseuds/blackkat
Summary: “You okay, vod?” Lucky asks Bly, about ten seconds after Bly walks into his second tent-pole of the morning because Agen and Aayla are comparing scars.
Relationships: CC-5052 | Bly/Aayla Secura/Agen Kolar
Series: Blyla Drabbles [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1615657
Comments: 29
Kudos: 725
Collections: Fun/Humour/Crack in a Galaxy Far Far Away





	put your hands all over me

**Author's Note:**

> For the prompt: Agen/Aayla/Bly and the two Jedi casually hauling around their favorite clone while he hyperventilates because *oof buff baes* and he can't even. Until he gets to prove that he, too, is deadly.

“Agen!” Aayla cries, and before Bly can even blink she’s leaping up the ramp of the ship, right into the arms of the tall Zabrak Jedi Master who’s emerging. He rocks back on his heels with a grunt as they collide, but he’s smiling when Aayla hugs him, and one arm comes up around her in return, a dark hand stroking one of her lek. His expression is soft, warm, and Bly has to swallow, but—

It’s not out of jealousy. They’re both just _really_ pretty, and Bly's man enough to appreciate that _wholeheartedly_.

“What are you doing here?” Aayla asks after a moment, pulling back. “Master Quinlan said you were still in Hutt space.”

Agen's expression takes on a satisfied slant. “The Council ordered me back. Apparently I was making them nervous.”

Aayla laughs, hooking her arm through Agen's as she leads him the rest of the way down the ramp. “I can't imagine why,” she says, teasing, and opens a hand to gesture to the rough base they’ve set up. “Welcome to the 327th, then, Agen. Your presence will be a blessing.”

With a grunt, Agen inclines his head. There are tattoos on his horns, and Bly's heard they're like a trooper’s tally marks—individual, meaningful, gauche to ask about without an intimate connection, but he still itches to know what they mean.

“Master Windu said you were going to make your way behind enemy lines,” he says. “I can help.”

Aayla’s grin is _sharp_. “I'm counting on it. Agen, this is Commander Bly, my second in command. Bly, this is Master Agen Kolar, who sits on the High Council.”

For a long moment, Agen eyes Bly, who snaps into a salute instantly. Then, deliberate, he nods, and glances over at Aayla. Raises a brow, and Aayla laughs, leaning into his side.

“I know,” she says, like Agen made a comment, and Bly doesn’t have a single idea what they're talking about but the fact that they're standing so close together is already distracting enough that it’s kind of hard to care.

Aayla is the most beautiful person he’s ever seen, in all the planets they’ve tramped across. But Agen is tall and lean and muscular in the same way, with long dark hair and exactly the kind of cool composure that Bly wants to _break_ , and—

This, Bly thinks, resigned, is going to be one hell of a mission.

It doesn’t get easier. Aayla and Agen seem joined at the hip, and when Agen isn't leaning into her space and letting her lekku curl around his limbs, Aayla is sitting with her legs tangled through his and braiding his hair, or they're falling asleep on each other in the command tent, or they’re sparring with _minimal clothing_ and managing to rip what they are wearing, and—

“You okay, vod?” Lucky asks Bly, about ten seconds after Bly walks into his second tent-pole of the morning because Agen and Aayla are comparing scars.

Bly doesn’t raise his burning face from the tent pole. Doesn’t look around, to where Aayla is in nothing but a bra and her tight leggings, and Agen has his shirt off, the line of his spine all too clear as he bends forward over a long mark on Aayla’s arm. Bly kind of wants to put his _teeth_ against Agen's spine, or his mouth on the hollow of Aayla’s collarbone, or—

“Fine,” Bly says, between gritted teeth. “Absolutely kriffing _fine_ , thanks for asking.”

“Um.” Lucky takes a deliberate step back. “Okay, sir. Sorry. I’ll just…let you get back to being fine?”

He bolts. Bly turns to glare at him, but—

They're kissing. Aayla has her hands twisted in Agen's hair, pulling him in, and Agen's hands span her waist, long fingers digging in as their mouths meet, separate, meet again. Bly even catches a flash of _tongue_.

There are about ten things Bly should be doing right now. He’s the top commander, and he has responsibilities, and he’s a grown man who can totally handle two gorgeous people making out in the middle of the base. He’s seen Gallia and Unduli kiss. He’s seen Kenobi and Fisto kiss. They're all beautiful. It was _fine_.

But this is too much for Bly to stand. He heads for the showers at a pace that is _definitely_ not dignified, locks the door behind himself, and tears his clothes off as he stuffs himself into the cubicle. The water has a cold setting, and he grimly turns it as close to arctic as it will go.

It doesn’t help the heat bubbling up inside him. Doesn’t stop himself from wrapping a hand around his dick and getting himself off to the image of Aayla and Agen tangled together in a bed. Doesn’t stop him from wanting to be standing over them, watching, or the way his mind immediately slides to their hands pulling him down on top of them, of getting a hold of warm skin and kissing those sly smiles and—

There’s no relief, because when he walks out of the shower Aayla has Agen kneeling over her lap as she plays with his hair, expression fascinated, and Bly almost turns around and goes right back in. The main thing that stops him is the smile she turns on him, the way she waves him over, and asks, “Bly, would your hair look like this, if it got long?”

Bly swallows. Doesn’t say _I want to watch him kiss you everywhere on your body_ , because he has _some_ restraint, even if it’s close. “No, mine curls more. It’s just a mess when it’s long.”

“It sounds adorable,” Aayla says without hesitation, and beams at him.

Agen inclines his head, agreeing with her. “Very,” he says, solemn, but there’s a curl to one corner of his mouth that flashes hot through Bly's blood. Sitting back on Aayla’s knees, he tips his head, looking up at Bly, and asks, “Do you spar, Commander? Aayla says you're good at hand to hand.”

“I said brilliant,” Aayla says, miffed, and tugs on his hair. Agen makes a soft sound, tilting his head into it, and Aayla’s smile goes _wicked_.

“Um,” Bly says, not entirely able to help himself. “Sorry, General, but—I thought you and General Fisto…?”

Agen hums, and when Aayla pulls just a little harder his breath audibly catches. Bly's maybe does, too. “Kit is fun,” he says, and—

Bly's brain overheats like a crappy speeder engine, and he excuses himself as fast as he possibly can, bolting for his office. It’s not exactly an appropriate place to sit and stew in thoughts of Aayla and Agen and Kit all tangled together in a big bed, breathless and sweaty and _hot_ , but at this point Bly is a desperate, desperate man.

It’s not that Bly is jealous. He’s _not_. He couldn’t figure who to be jealous of even if he tried, and mostly he just wants to stuff himself in between them like the greedy, horny thing they’ve turned him into with their constant flirting and _touching_.

Not just touching each other, either, because that would be too easy. No, they keep touching _Bly_ , who is too young to have a heart attack from the amount of times he’s had to detour into the showers or his bunk or his _kriffing office_.

This is definitely going to be how he dies, though. The other day Aayla casually gave him a leg up onto the top of a wall, almost _threw_ him up onto it, and it had taken Bly almost twenty minutes to get his heart rate back down to normal just _thinking_ about how strong she is. Even before Agen turned up, he always had _ideas_ , and he wouldn’t have _acted_ on them, but—

Well. Knowing they are actually physically possible is terrifying and also so hot that Bly kind of wants to die.

And, of course, this isn't even counting Agen, who picked Bly right up off the top of a transport that was about to explode, tossed him over his shoulder, and them climbed up a _cliff_ , because Jedi are insane and Bly maybe kind of wants Agen to pick him up in different ways now. Wants to see him pick _Aayla_ up, and watch them, or press himself up behind Agen as he fucks Aayla and—

If there was a bar around, Bly would probably have drunk himself under three or four tables by now. For the sake of his liver, it’s probably best that they’re in the ass-end of nowhere, no matter how much Bly is currently suffering.

Nothing in the history of the GAR has ever gone smoothly, so it’s not a surprise their mission goes to hell about six hours in. The Seps are prepared for Jedi, prepared for an assault, and armed with some new kind of tranq dart that puts even a Zabrak down for the count within thirty seconds.

If Bly ever meets the chemists who cook up these kriffing things, they’re going to have _words_.

Still. Jedi in danger is what Bly's trained for, and more than that, these are _his_ Jedi in a way no others will ever be. There are droids approaching, battle droids and commando droids alike, and Bly has little cover and nowhere to retreat to. Agen is trying to stand, drugged and furious, and Aayla is on the ground but still reaching for her lightsaber, and Bly just—

Steps in front of them, blaster in one hand, a thermal detonator stolen from Agen in the other, and does his job. After so many weeks of being completely helpless in the face to two unfairly attractive people, breaking clankers is almost a relief.

“Bly!” Aayla says when he staggers back around the speeder, bleeding and lightly scorched but otherwise intact. She shoves to her feet, as unsteady as a fawn, and Bly catches her by the elbows about half a second before she goes down again.

“General,” he says, startled, and Aayla wraps her arms around him, leaning against his chest for a long moment. He doesn’t quite know what to do with his hands—knows what he _wants_ to do, but it’s what he shouldn’t, so he settles for holding her up and not touching any more than that.

“Are you all right?” he asks quietly, and Aayla huffs, but lifts her head.

“Fine,” she says. “It’s just a muscle relaxant, and it’s wearing off.”

The flare of panic when Bly saw both of his Jedi go down isn't so quick to fade, but he lets out a slow breath of relief, wrapping an arm around her waist and helping her back to where Agen is leaning against the speeder, dark eyes burning and expression unreadable. For a moment, Bly hesitates, not sure if Agen is angry somehow, or offended—

“Bly,” Agen says quietly, and gets a hand on the speeder, levering himself up with what looks like an immense effort. They got him _twice_ with that dart, and Bly's flare of concern outweighs the worry about Agen's usually-even temper. He steps forward quickly, catches Agen with his free arm, and holds him upright as he wavers.

“Droids are gone,” he says, probably unnecessarily, but anything is better than thinking about both Agen and Aayla pressed up against _him_ , hanging on to _him_ , looking at _him_. Bly's greedy, greedy brain goes far too many places that aren’t remotely appropriate. “We should probably see if we can make it to the hills, get under some cover.”

Aayla looks at Agen, and Agen looks at Bly, and—

Suddenly, shockingly, there’s a mouth on Bly's. A hot mouth, warmer than a Human, harsher. Bly jerks, gasps, then automatically hauls Agen closer. Gets his hand in warm hair, against smooth skin, presses Agen's mouth open and slips his tongue inside, tangling, kissing him harder until it wrings a low, shivery noise from him. The sound jars through Bly's brain, not quite a shock of cold water but certainly a reminder that this _isn't his_ , and he jerks back, only to have Aayla lean in and take his mouth next. She takes the lead instantly, pushing Bly back, back into Agen as he shifts behind them, and being trapped between them is everything Bly has wanted for _weeks_. He maybe whimpers. He _definitely_ goes weak at the knees as Aayla invades his mouth and _takes_ , and Bly wants to give her _everything_.

He reaches behind him, blindly. Gets one hand around the jut of Agen's horn, one hand around Aayla’s lek. Hears their reactions, and wants _more_.

They're standing in the middle of enemy territory, dozens of scrapped droids barely ten paces away. Bly tears his mouth away from Aayla’s, even if he doesn’t let go, and rasps, “Cover. Then we can continue this.”

Aayla’s smile is all wicked slyness, and the curl of Agen's hands over Bly's hips is enough to send shivers all up and down his spine. “That sounds promising,” she says, and feathers one last kiss over his lips before she pulls back, catching herself on the speeder.

“Mm.” Agen pulls Bly around, kisses him slow and careful and _hot_ before he lifts his head, and says, “We’ve been waiting for you to notice.”

Bly blinks at him, trying to make sense of the words. Stares, blank, for one long moment, and—

“ _Notice_?” he says, and his voice cracks.

Aayla laughs, leaning in to kiss him on the cheek. Agen mirrors her, kissing the other, and then they both draw back.

“We’ll just have to make it up to you,” she says, and Bly finally, finally manages to close his mouth.

He’ll make _sure_ they do. _Thoroughly_.


End file.
